by Wood, Kolin
A selection of buckets sat in an organised line beside the unit. Juliana’s nose wrinkled in disgust as she tipped one over with her boot. The smell changed, and she recognised it immediately as the sharp tang of blood and the sickly stench of rotten flesh. The noise of the metal bucket hitting the concrete rattled around the large space, but Juliana was unfazed, unable to pull her eyes from the curved bones of a spine that tumbled out onto the black floor.
Her whole body shuddered. Just like the prison; this place had the same memo. The sick fuckers had been eating each other, and now, as she looked down at the sections of dissected ribcage at her feet, she was willing to bet that the cannibalism was in some way responsible for creating the monsters that she had seen, both here in the park and back in the cells of the prison. One Six Four’s bloodied eyes flashed in her mind and she forced them aside.
A plug of bile rising in her throat, Juliana turned away. With her back to the wall, she continued to skirt the edge of the room, her eyes fixed on the chair at its centre. She didn’t see the doorway until she was standing right beside it. Like the others, it was unfinished, a rough aperture of chipped concrete block and cement muck.
Juliana blinked twice, but it helped her vision little. Her fingers traced the sharp block edges and she stepped inside. Immediately, the wind dropped away, leaving a still and pungent atmosphere that was unsettling and quiet. Once again she was reminded of the cells at the prison, the ones habited by the numbers with that same smell of death, and the nape of her neck began to tingle a warning. The open windows behind continued to let in fingers of the storm.
Her steps made a soft crunching sound on the floor as she walked. Several times she tripped and stumbled. Black entrances lined the walls on either side, offering unexplored spaces, but none stood out enough to warrant an investigation.
Juliana continued forward, one steady step at a time, moving as if somebody had switched her to autopilot. Soon, she came to a corner and, even though she was inhibited from seeing more than a few feet in front of her face, a voice inside told her to stop before peering around. She obeyed and held her breath. Without the sound of her own breathing, her ears were able to pick out the faint crunching of footsteps.
Something moved.
Horrified, she put a hand over her mouth and nose. Somebody was walking in the dark, just a few metres in front of her. The knife in her other hand shook, and she wished that she had taken the time to free the gun from the bag on her back before venturing into the dark. Suddenly, her decision to remain quiet and use the knife seemed ridiculous.
The footsteps continued their slow and graceful walk and Juliana realised with relief that they were moving away from her. She breathed. The sound continued to fade.
Come on, Juliana. Get yourself together.
Her whole body shook.
Momentarily, she again considered pulling free her gun. She had no idea of how many more were in there. Maybe it was just him, but could she take that risk of alerting the others?
The sound of a sobbing voice roused her from her thoughts.
“Please, help me.” It was a girl’s voice, low and pitiful.
Suddenly spooked, Juliana turned back in the direction of the assembly room. Some ways behind her, the doorway presented itself as a small, grey smudge. Nobody, that she could tell, had followed her into the corridor, and the knowledge was reassuring. Confidently, she peered around the corner and listened again. More sobbing, faint almost to a whisper, but there nonetheless.
It must be the girl. She’s alive.
Determined to help and jacked up on adrenaline, Juliana quietly slipped the knife into the large pocket of her jacket and swung the bag containing the shotgun around to the front of her body. She slipped the straps from her shoulders, pulled the gun free, and gripped it tightly with both hands. Sod the quiet approach; if anybody was stupid enough to come at her from the darkness, then they were sure as shit going to feel both barrels. Time to get the girl and get the hell out.
Her throat suddenly dry to the point of painful, Juliana took a deep breath and turned the corner in the direction of the crying voice. There would be no turning back now.
Chapter 25
With every jolt of his body, Tanner’s shoulder felt as if somebody was hammering nails into it. Ahead of him, the lights from the square drew nearer, blocked momentarily as somebody in front of him turned into the street.
“Move!” Tanner shouted, as loudly as his overworked lungs could muster.
But his chest burned and the resultant wheeze did little but confuse the person enough to make them stop. Some way behind him, the sound of a dozen screams rang out again.
He kept running, barely able to feel his legs for the pain that now consumed him.
An old man, his withered face creased and his mouth turned up in a drunken smile, stood on wobbly-looking legs, blocking his path.
Unable to stop, Tanner barged into him at full speed. The force toppled him backwards off of his feet. Tangled, the pair stumbled and collapsed with a clatter into a table a few feet away, bringing it down on top of them both with a loud bang. A fowl-smelling, dirty rubber tablecloth smothered his face, blocking his view. Tanner winced as rough hands grabbed him under his arms and attempted to drag him to his feet. Unable to stand, his body felt like a dead weight. The tablecloth fell away.
The old, drunken man wriggled beneath him like a banked fish as small, bony fists lashed out at him in frustration from below. “Get the hell off of me, ya son of a bitch! I’ll kill ya dead, I swear it!”
Tanner’s shoulder burned acid again and he tried to lift his head and shake off the hands mauling him, but to no avail. His legs wouldn’t hold him and he wondered how much blood he’d lost in the run. His fingers still held onto the rifle, gripping it for all his worth, as a boot came down on top, trapping his hand.
“What are you doing to the old man, friend?” a deep, firm voice asked from somewhere up to his left.
Disorientated and still out of breath, Tanner ignored the pain in his fingers and turned to look up into the kind but serious eyes of the large-set man who now stood over him. He wore a worn leather, flat cap and a red, plaid shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows. The visible skin of his forearms, which were as thick as table legs, bore faded naval tattoos. Beside him, the furious face of the old man appeared.
“This crazy bastard just attacked me!” he shouted, his words slurred.
Tanner shook his head and coughed in an attempt to clear his fevered mind. He swooned. “Monsters… coming here… Need to tell… everyone…”
The big man frowned, his look suspicious. “Monsters?”
The old man scoffed, wiping imaginary dirt from one arm. “He’s as crazy as a rat in shit house.”
Just then, a woman screamed. As one, the group surrounding Tanner turned back in the direction of the sound. He felt the pressure on his fingers lessen.
Something large burst from the cover of the alleyway. Too fast to make out, it took two or three quick, bounding steps and launched itself at a fat lady wearing a dirty, meat-packers coat. Her face twisted with horror and surprise as the thing on her back leaned forward and sunk its teeth into her neck. Blood sprayed from the wound as she tottered a few paces, swinging her arms wildly. Then she hit the cobbles with a thud and lay still as the monster proceeded to rip out her throat.
Panic rippled through the inebriated crowd, some of whom simply looked on in stunned shock.
Another stalked into view. It moved slowly, as if tracking for a victim, and Tanner recognised the same sallow skin from before. Red eyes brimmed with hate as it opened its foaming mouth and screamed.
As the people above him jostled and shouted, Tanner was able to find purchase with his feet and push himself up into a standing position. His body swayed. Somebody next to him ducked as he swung the gun up into the crook of his arm and fired. The shot boomed around the square. More people screamed as everyone put their hands up to shield their heads and faces. The shot wa
s not properly aimed but even so, it caught the thing in its side, popping a small hole in its ribcage and sending it down with a jolt. Its arms and legs thrashed as it turned and tried to crawl away.
“Move!” Tanner yelled; his throat burned raw. He wedged the rifle down against the stones and fumbled to re-load it with one arm. His fingers slipped on a bullet cartridge and it bounced away.
Around him, the entire square was now a scene of utter chaos. Windows overlooking the space had opened up to reveal tired faces that peered out, keen to know the cause of the disturbance to their sleep.
Sliding back the bolt, Tanner glanced up to see more of the things run in from the alleyway. Startled to the point of panic, the old man had tried to make a run for it, but his tired legs had not allowed him time to clear the area in front of the alleyway fast enough. Tanner could do nothing but watch as a huge, stocky creature jumped and landed on him, crumpling his frail body to the floor with ease. The man let out a scared, gargled scream, his wide eyes briefly finding Tanner’s own, before large fingers curled around his head and slammed his face down into the stones.
More shapes streaked in, laying siege to the drunk and startled crowd who had finally realised the threat on their lives. Others fell around him as Tanner turned to the big man with the plaid shirt and thrust the gun into his hands. Still in shock, the man looked down at the gun and then back up into Tanner’s face.
“Shoot as many as you can,” Tanner said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the box containing the few remaining shells. He thrust them into the crook of the man’s arm. “And try not to miss, that’s all I have.”
By now they could barely hear themselves as the screaming around them intensified.
“What… is…?” the man began, but Tanner ignored him, reaching for the upturned table with his good hand and then tugging the man down into a kneeling position behind it.
“Just shoot! You’ll put them down faster than I can.”
Tears shimmered in the wells of the man’s eyes but he nodded and set the crumpled box of shells down on the concrete by his knee. Shaking hands fumbled with the bolt of the gun.
“It’s empty,” Tanner added as he turned and moved away.
Hunkered down, he weaved his way across the square, sidestepping those in his way and ignoring anybody that tried to stop him. Luckily, given the time of night, many of the stalls had long closed, and the non-alcoholics had found their way to bed, leaving the space relatively clear. Every step he took felt like a miracle; the banging in his head as if somebody was repeatedly hitting it with a paving slab.
Through bleary eyes, Tanner recognised the steps of the block that led to their small, rented room. Several people had congregated at the entrance, their drawn faces not yet awake enough to show emotion.
Gripping the rail, Tanner began to climb the small flight, hauling his body with every ounce of his might. As he approached the top, a woman that he recognised set a hand on his arm and yanked him to a stop. Her touch was cold and tough like leather. “What’s going on?” she asked with worried eyes.
Tanner saw her look from his face to his shoulder, and her expression told of her concern for his wellbeing.
“The square is under attack,” he answered, glancing over at the man beside her who could easily have been her husband. His voice sounded like he was hearing it from underwater. “Grab whatever weapons you have, and tell whoever you know. Do it quickly. More of them will be arriving soon.”
“More of who?” the woman asked, but Tanner had already barged past on her, his feet like lead boots and the pain in his head threatening his vision.
Inside the block, the air was warm and smoky. The stairs stretched away from him, a deep green colour, like a huge creeping ladder reaching up into the heavens. He felt giddy, as if he might just snuff out like a candle at any moment. The room that he shared with Juliana was located on the third floor—six flights of stairs up. Charlie would hopefully be in there.
C’mon soldier.
He cursed himself. This weakened version was not him, not anybody that he even recognised. He’d crossed deserts with nothing but the clothes on his back, waded in swamps with alligators big enough to bite off both of his legs, and yet the stumble across the square had felt like the final marathon of his life. Something was really wrong.
Tanner opened his mouth and forced a breath. He raised his leg and set it on the step. The muscles in his leading thigh screamed as pain shot up through his neck, planting itself at the base of his skull. But he ignored it, yanking his body ever forward, dragging the second leg up behind him, again and again, until he assumed himself to be at least half way up.
He would not dare to waste the energy looking behind himself to check.
He took another step.
Black, furry edges began to frame his vision, and Tanner realised that he was about to pass out. He gripped the banister and held on tight as his body swayed first one way and then the next like a clock pendulum.
“You having a bit of trouble there, pal?”
The voice cut through the haze, and Tanner’s eyes shocked open. “Charlie?” he managed through cracked lips.
He heard the faint slamming of boots on the stairs and suddenly a strong arm gripped him around the waist. “Who else would dare to get this close to an old, mangy dog like you? Where’s Juliana?”
Tanner opened his mouth to speak but his head bevelled on his neck.
“Jesus, Mick, what the fuck happened to you?”
Through bleary eyes, Tanner saw Charlie open up the front his coat and felt pressure on his shoulder. The hand that pulled back was slick with blood.
“Come on, me ole son.”
The grip around his waist increased. His toes bumped repetitively up the final steps, and he heard something that sounded like a steam train puffing in his ears.
***
The first thing Tanner realised was a dull prodding pain in his arm.
He opened his eyes and blinked. It was dark but for a dull glow in the bottom corner of his vision. His head still pounded but its effect had lessened.
“Lay still, old friend. I’ve not finished yet.”
The voice belonged to Charlie, and Tanner turned to see a dark shadow crouched over him.
Suddenly, a jolt like an arrow of pain, shot from his shoulder, and Tanner winced. A dry, whisky-cracked laugh sounded above him.
“The apocalypse has made you soft, Tanner.”
Tanner opened his mouth to speak, but his parchment-dry tongue caught in his throat. He felt a hand pat him on his chest.
“There. Those gauzes should keep you from bleeding out for a while. Used all of your bandages though. And you owe me a half bottle of brew!”
The noise from outside suddenly registered and Tanner raised his head, ignoring the agony in his neck. Sporadic gunshots popped like firecrackers. Voices yelled and screamed.
“Help me… up,” Tanner croaked.
A firm grip cradled his head and another arm hooked him under the shoulder of his good arm. As he was hauled to his feet, the sudden rush of blood caused his eyes to roll. Something prodded him in the chest and he looked down to see a crushed, plastic bottle of water.
“Drink it. All of it,” Charlie said.
Tanner nodded; his grip weak as he took the bottle and raised it to his cracked lips. The warm fluid flooded in, irrigating the desert in his mouth and throat. With every pull he felt some of his clarity return. Once the bottle had been drained, he walked with slow, shuffling steps over to the window.
Below them, the square was in the midst of a full blown battle. Bodies lay strewn all over; some still, others moving. Torn limbs lay in glistening pools of blood, and the entire floor looked black with more of the same.
“Jesus H. Christ,” Tanner said.
Charlie nodded. “It’s a shit storm, all right.”
Tanner continued to scan the space. People fought each other with knives and sticks, table legs and bottles; anything on hand. The few wit
h guns had managed to form small pockets, protecting the injured and those behind them with barricades of tables and barrels. Over to the right, Tanner spotted the large man with the plaid shirt and the flat cap, swinging his rifle stock like a mad man at any bald head that dared to come near him. Even over the calamity outside, Tanner was sure he heard the crack as a skull opened.
The people of the Refuge had turned out in force, and although they had taken some severe losses, they appeared to be holding their own against the onslaught.
Tanner turned to Charlie who lit a cigarette and handed it to him, smiling over the slither of blue smoke.
“We need to go and help Juliana,” Tanner said. “I know where she is.”
Charlie shook his head, reached down and picked up a gun, a black, sleek-looking sniper rifle with a scope. He held it out in Tanner’s direction. “Not you, my friend.”
Tanner considered the weapon and then looked up into Charlie’s dark eyes.
“You know you’ll not make it, Mick.”
The words bit him as Tanner dropped his eyes to the floor. Charlie was right. He clenched his fist and screwed his eyes tight. “She’s over the other side of the park,” he said. “In a tall building with—”
“The Church… yeah, I know it.” Charlie interrupted. “I’ll get to her, I promise.”
Tanner looked up. Charlie’s dark eyes twinkled. “You always could shoot the dick and balls off of a gnat, Tanner. Put as many of those motherfucker’s down as you can. I’ll be back soon.” And with that he turned for the door.
Tanner glanced back after him. “Charlie…”
But his friend simply raised a hand, pulled a knife from a sheath under his coat and unbolted the door. “Lock it behind me,” he said, and with that, he was gone.
Chapter 26
“My chosen brothers, it is time.” An echoed voice called out in the darkness.
